Authors: Portia MacIntosh
‘Cool,’ I reply, only managing to fake enough sincerity to make me sound super sarcastic. ‘I won’t keep you long, I just need you all to sign Charlie’s leaving card before the party this afternoon. You guys are the last ones.’
The new guy is staring at me and smiling. It’s a friendly smile, but I still feel awkward about yesterday, just in case he could hear Will and me.
‘Roger that,’ Garth replies, taking the card from me. ‘I’ll pass this around if you do me a favour – have a play around on this.’ He plonks a silver MacBook on the desk in front of me. ‘We’ve had some complaints that the UI is affecting the UX.’
With that, Garth leaves me to it. I stare at the screen in front of me and scrunch up my face as I try and work out what the fuck that could possibly mean. I look left then right, like the answers might be on the walls amongst all the design plans, code and posters for things I am too ‘cool’ to get. As I look right I see the new guy still smiling at me. He pushes off the desk next to him, which sends him flying across the room to me on his desk chair. That’s the kind of thing that, if I did it, would see me crashing through a third-storey window, but Geordie Shore makes it seem cool and effortless.
‘That’s just his pretentious way of saying that people think how it looks affects how it works,’ he explains to me, and put like that it sounds simple.
‘Oh,’ I reply. ‘Thank you. Well, yeah, the yellow is too much.’
‘Ever since I got here, I have been telling them to go easy on the yellow crap,’ he tells me, relieved at least one other person shares his views. ‘I keep telling them that clean and minimalistic is on-trend right now, but they’re pushing the stars. We get it, the company is called Starr, but enough of the pretty little yellow things with five points – that’s not what a star looks like. A star is a big ball of exploding gas. They’re orange or, if they’re really hot, they’re blue. Although I suppose a big ball of exploding gas might not be the best option for branding considering our guys drive around in trucks all day.’ He laughs.
I chuckle. ‘I guess not.’
There’s silence for a few seconds before Garth hands the card to new guy to sign.
‘What did you think?’ he asks me.
‘Mate, she said same as me – too much yellow,’ new guy answers on my behalf.
‘Candice has been here long enough to know that this company and yellow go together like Jaime and Cersei Lannister.’ Garth laughs, taking his laptop and returning to his desk.
‘Yeah.’ I laugh, before turning to the new guy and staring blankly. He looks up from signing Charlie’s card and sees my puzzled, expectant look.
‘Oh, so I’m your dork translator now, am I?’ He laughs.
‘Something like that,’ I reply sweetly.
‘They’re characters from
Game of Thrones
,’ he informs me.
‘Oh, I see. I’m guessing they’ve been married a long time then,’ I reason.
‘Not quite,’ he replies. ‘So, will I be seeing you at Charlie’s leaving party?’
‘Maybe,’ I reply. I always seem to clam up a little when we start getting on, an involuntary reaction, I think, probably because I worry what Will would think if he saw us together.
‘Maybe?’ he gasps. ‘Candy, it’s Charlie’s leaving do; you can’t swerve it!’
‘First of all, my name is
Candice
,’ I correct him, as always. ‘Second of all, you’ve been here five minutes; you don’t even know Charlie.’
‘How dare you,’ he gasps dramatically again. ‘Charlie is one of the nicest blokes you could hope to meet. He’s been great with me while I’ve been here – even if it’s only been five minutes.’
I purse my lips and nod my head. It was a nice try, but I’m not buying it. ‘Charlie is one of the
ladies
who works in the canteen.’ I laugh.
‘Oh,’ he replies. ‘Oh! It might seem weird that I wrote “good luck, pal” in the card.’
‘Yeah, you might want to change that.’
‘Well you said we were the last, so I sealed the card.’ He laughs as he scratches his head. As I watched him sign his name, it had occurred to me to maybe have a peep, to see what his name was. I didn’t really listen when he introduced himself, and no one ever seems to say his name. It seems rude to ask him now and I don’t want to make myself look like a bitch.
I hate to stereotype, but everyone in the IT department looks exactly as you would expect an IT department employee to look – not the new guy, though.
I’m not sure if I have a type, but I don’t think the new guy is it. Well, he’s nothing like Will, that’s for sure. That said, Geordie Shore is a very attractive man. I doubt he has any trouble getting girls, which is what makes me wonder why he tries so hard with me. I’d guess he’s about my age, he’s tall and thin. Not skinny though – he’s very well toned and it shows underneath the fitted V-neck T-shirt he’s wearing. God, I hate that I’m looking. He has tanned skin, big, deep brown eyes and brown hair, making him fit the tall, dark and handsome bill that most go for. He’s got one of those short, neat beards – not the dirty, overgrown hipster type, but the kind that’s almost just like long stubble, and his longish dark hair is twisted up into one of those topknot things that are so popular at the moment. It fascinates me how young men have embraced what is essentially a ballerina bun for boys, giving it its own name in an attempt to make it cool and manly. He wears thick-rimmed, black glasses, which only add to his cool look. He doesn’t look like an IT nerd; he looks like a Topman model.
The most striking thing about him isn’t even the way he looks, but the way he carries himself. He’s that guy all the warm-blooded females in the office have a crush on, the kind who flirts with everyone because he can. He doesn’t come across as smarmy though, not with those baby-faced dimples. He’s got the kind of face that could get away with murder.
‘So, which one is Charlie?’ he asks, snapping me from my thoughts and dragging my gaze from his muscular arms back up to his eyes.
‘Erm…blonde, curly hair. Early forties. Short,’ I babble, struggling to describe her without using her obvious identifier.
‘Oh, I know, the one with the big – ’
‘Heart,’ I interrupt him, to save him from having to state the (awkward) obvious. The thing with Charlie is that she wears these distractingly low V-neck tops that really accentuate her chest. And when I say they’re low, I mean they’re
low
. Even I can’t help but stare. It’s like her neckline is an arrow pointing down towards her cleavage, sucking you in like the Bermuda triangle.
‘Yes,’ he replies with a thoughtful nod. ‘Heart.’ The new guy thinks for a second before adding: ‘That must by why her tops are so tight, if her heart is so big.’
I laugh, shaking my head. ‘Well, I’d better get back to work,’ I tell him. It’s strange, but I kind of don’t want to go. Perhaps it’s because there’s such a nice atmosphere in here, even if I don’t know what anyone is talking about most of the time.
‘Well, I’ll see you at Charlie’s leaving do then,’ he tells me. ‘I imagine her boobs are already halfway out the door.’
I can’t help but leave the IT department with a big smile on my face, grinning to myself all the way back through the banana. For once, I’m actually looking forward to a work thing.
‘What kind of party is this?’ the new guy asks as he sidles up to me, disappointment in his voice. ‘There’s no booze.’
New guy. Again. I can’t get rid of him! The truth is, though, that I’m glad he’s here because until he came to stand next to me, I was just hanging around in the canteen on my own and it would have certainly stayed that way. I did catch the attention of my female fan club when I entered the room – minus Caroline who isn’t here – but her minions made me feel suitably unwelcome. You’d think Julie would show me a little solidarity considering we’re the only two young female employees, but I’ve been able to feel her burning a hole in the back of my head with her death stare since I arrived.
‘It’s lunchtime and we’re at work,’ I remind him. ‘Anyway, this lot don’t do well with drink.’
From where we’re standing in the corner of the canteen, we have a clear view of everyone. Well, everyone but Caroline – and Will, who is stuck in a meeting, so I decide it’s safe to tell the new guy a little bit about everyone.
‘That’s Charlie, the guest of honour,’ I say as I point her out.
‘Who are the two bald guys standing next to her?’ he asks seriously.
‘There’s no one next to her,’ I reply, puzzled. Charlie is over by the buffet table, munching away on a sausage roll.
‘Oh, no, wait,’ new guy starts, ‘it’s just her boobs. Carry on.’
I giggle and shake my head. I admire Charlie’s confidence to wear such low tops, especially around all the pervy blokes who work here. I’d love to care less about what people think.
‘You see that guy.’ I subtly point at a young, skinny blonde lad who is entertaining the gaggle of female staff members. ‘That’s Craig. He’s the main reason we have dry office parties now. Last Christmas we had the bash at a hotel in town. The bosses went all-out. It was amazing.’
Well, the party was amazing, but it wasn’t amazing for me. Stephanie was supposed to be away with the kids, staying with family, so Will and I had a room booked at the hotel. I spent so much money on my outfit, I had my hair done and I spent ages getting ready. Then I turned up at the party and there was Stephanie on Will’s arm. She’d spent even more money on her outfit and looked like she’d spent even longer getting ready. She looked perfect. She knew that Will was staying at the hotel so, to keep up appearances as always, she stayed with him. Will and I had a big row that night. It’s the closest we’ve ever come to ending things.
‘So what did Craig do?’ the new guy asks, snapping me from my thoughts.
‘He thought he’d try and steal a bottle of champagne from the bar, reached over and somehow managed to catch his arm on something sharp. I’ve never seen a cut like it – or so much blood! It was all you could smell; it filled the air. He had to be rushed to hospital for an operation!’
The new guy shakes his head with despair, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg of Cray-Craig’s (that’s what I call him in my head) behaviour.
‘Man, I love a drop of champers, but that’s insane.’
‘It’s completely insane,’ I agree. ‘Especially considering the fact it was a free bar.’
The new guy laughs. ‘So who else do I have to blame for enduring this sober?’
I glance around the room and spot a red-headed fifty-something lady wearing a navy blue twinset. She’s delicately sipping from her plastic cup, occasionally pinching crisps from the plate of the person next to her as she chats away.
‘That’s Cindy. See how prim and proper she seems? She turned up to a party with her husband – such a nice man! Very small and bald though, makes him look a bit like a turtle because he wears his suits too big for some reason. Anyway, Cindy had a bit too much to drink, made her way to the dance floor and started trying to grind on the men – then the women. Poor hubby just stood at the side of the room, watching, without a hint of any kind of emotion.’
‘That dirty devil.’ New guy laughs. ‘Who’s that twat?’
I look over in the direction he’s pointing and spot Karl. He’s simultaneously picking his nose and drooling over Charlie as she eats her sausage roll.
‘That’s Karl. He’s from Liverpool. He’s one of the drivers, and an office party repeat offender. He’s actually the reason there’s now a “three strikes, you’re out” behavioural policy.’
‘This I need to hear. Shall we sit down?’ new guy asks. ‘I’ll grab us a couple of lemonades.’
I smile and nod.
I take a seat at one of the canteen booths and shortly after the new guy joins me. He doesn’t take a seat opposite me like I expected him to, he sits next to me and scooches up close so we can continue our conversation without anyone hearing.
‘Do you know what this is?’ he asks, flashing me his key ring.
‘Of course,’ I reply, almost offended. ‘Just because I didn’t know what the Ocu- Ocul-’
‘Oculus,’ he interrupts me, putting me out of my misery. ‘It’s virtual reality gaming – even I’m not nerdy enough for that, don’t sweat it.’
‘Oh. Well, I know what that is – it’s a flash drive.’
New guy wiggles his eyebrows before popping the top off it and pouring its crystal-clear contents out into our drinks, half in each lemonade.
‘What is that?’ I squeak.
‘Vodka,’ he says coolly. ‘For emergencies.’
‘What kind of emergency requires vodka?’
‘Dull parties.’ He laughs. ‘Now tell me about Karl and his previous.’
I’m not much of a big drinker these days, but I sip my drink gratefully.
‘His first strike was not long after I started working for the company and the party was at Wi- Mr Starr’s massive house,’ I begin, correcting myself as I go along. ‘It was a Friday night and Karl got so wasted he had to go and throw up in one of the bathrooms. Anyway, he must have passed out. The party ended, everyone went home…’
‘But not Karl?’ new guy guesses.
‘Not Karl. Karl woke up on the floor the next morning and was too scared to leave. As the story goes he had planned to try and sneak out, but the opportunity never arose. He stayed in the bathroom until Saturday evening when the cleaner found him – and the toilet he’d blocked with his vomit.’
‘Nice.’ New guy nods, almost impressed by Karl’s antics. ‘What was his second strike?’
‘That took place in this very room last Halloween – we had a costume party,’ I explain, widening my eyes, pre-empting his disbelief.
‘This lot in fancy dress?’ He laughs. ‘It’s mostly middle-aged women and old truckers.’
‘Yes, a superhero costume party,’ I continue, and he finds this even funnier.
‘Who were you?’ he asks, quick as a flash.
‘I was – of course – Wonder Woman,’ I tell him, modestly.
‘This I need to see pictures of!’ New guy looks visibly surprised as he says this. ‘I’ve never seen you in anything but your office Stepford get-up. I bet you were a hit with the fellas.’
I flash the new guy an unimpressed side glance.
The truth is that my outfit was actually a big hit with the drivers, who were also only used to seeing me in my office attire – although back then it wasn’t quite as Stepford as it is now. With my big, brunette curled wig, my boobs pushed up underneath my chin and the red thigh-high boots I had to visit a sex shop specifically just to find, I actually felt like I looked pretty cool. Will didn’t agree, and he took me to one side to tell me as much. He thought that it was far too revealing, and not really me. I remember the exact words he used: ‘not right for my body’. I glanced over at Stephanie in her red-belted mac and her red fedora, that he was obviously fine for her to leave the house in. I had accidentally whipped Will with my lasso of truth, and that’s when I realised he didn’t want a thigh-flashing Wonder Woman with her cleavage on show, he wanted Carmen Sandiego, in her figure-hiding clothes and with her educational agenda. That’s when I realised I needed a Wonder Woman makeover circa 1950s, when they took away her whip to get rid of any bondage overtones, and made her more traditional and Christian. I’d already been watching my mouth and behaviour, but that’s when I stated dressing more appropriately.